


The Power of Potions

by raiyana



Series: The Reader Inserts [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts, Potions Accident, Tumblr: ImaginexHobbit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2018-12-21 10:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11942265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Imagine messing up on a potion, accidentally turning Fili and Kili into children and temporarily taking care them while Thorin attempts his best to help out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My original note for this prompt was  
> Hogwarts AU  
> Possibly Thorin being a staff member and Dumbledore/Gandalf going "You done it, you fix it" *finger gun salute*
> 
> I completely blame Kim for this happening at all. Thanks, dear ;P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in November 1987.

“Duck!!” you screamed, throwing yourself underneath the table just before your cauldron’s ominous rumbles became a volcanic eruption.

“Protego!” a dark voice shouted loudly, making you dare to leave the safety of the work-desk and peek over the tabletop, staring at the two brothers, who were covered by the ominously smoking red goo that had just exploded out of your cauldron and splattered onto the twins.

“Fíli! Kíli!” you cried, jumping to your feet.

“Evanesco!” the Professor cast, vanishing the goo instantly. You stared apprehensively as your black-clad potions teacher descended on you, his fury an almost visible cloud around him. “Miss Grey, what exactly did you just do?” he hissed silkily. You swallowed nervously.

“Sorry, sir,” you whispered, knowing you’d be getting a tongue-lashing from your head of House later. Kimberly-Anne was smirking at you from the next bench, and you wanted to stick your tongue out at her, but that wouldn’t be in keeping with the House Rules of Slytherin. “I added too much gentian, and then I tried to control the acidity with powdered moonstone, but I couldn’t get enough thestral-hair into my cauldron before it was too late.” You knew better than to add an excuse – there was none, and the fact that you had managed to render your potion non-scalding and _probably_ inert was little comfort in the face of Professor Snape’s displeasure.

“While the moonstone proves that you may one day become an adequate Mistress of Potions, Miss Grey, you get a zero for the day. Take Misters Durin to the Hospital Wing,” Professor Snape added, his dark eyes glittering.

“Yes, sir,” you acquiesced, beginning to pack up your bag silently. You left behind your cauldron, still half-full of whatever mess your salvation had created, which you’d have to analyse later as part of your punishment, you knew.

“Honestly, sir, I feel fine,” Kíli protested, always the first to speak, jumping to your defense. You sighed. Kíli was _such_ a Gryffindor at times, it was nearly painful. Even a couple of exchange students only here for seventh year should _know_ better than to disagree with the Potions Master. You spotted the Gryffindor Head Boy in your peripheral vision, shaking his head at Kíli, who missed the frantic gesture to shut up.

“Me, too, sir, the potion wasn’t even hot,” Fíli added, slightly less belligerent. The Ravenclaw usually thought things through a little more than his boisterous brother, even if he too suffered from the Gryffindor trait of reckless bravery. You sighed again. Having been partnered with Kíli in Defense and Fíli in Charms, you’d gotten to know both twins reasonably well in the two months since school started. “I don’t think we need to go to the Hospital Wing,” Fíli continued, sounding quite reasonable.

“Fifteen points from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, Misters Durin, for disrespecting my orders. Miss Grey, escort Misters Durin to the Hospital Wing, and inform Madam Pomfrey that none of you are allowed to leave until I can assess you later. Take notes.” Professor Snape added, his voice dropping into dangerous levels. You nodded mutely, turning your head to glare desperately at Kíli, mouthing at the both of them to follow you as you headed towards the door with a nod at your dark professor.

“Yes, sir,” you opened the door, staring imploringly at Fíli until he tugged Kíli’s arm to make him follow.

 

“You just _had_ to talk back!” you rounded at Kíli when you reached the Entrance Hall, poking his chest angrily.

“Hey!” Kíli protested angrily. “I was just defending _you!_ ”

“Your Gryffindor _idiocy_ probably gained me an extra detention!” you seethed, whirling and stomping off towards the Infirmary. You didn’t look back to see if they followed, hearing the heavy threads of their boots behind you.

“But Snape never punishes Slytherins,” Fíli protested, just before you reached the wide doors. “Everyone knows that!”

“Ha!” you scoffed. “I thought Eagles were supposed to be cleverer than that. He does punish us. He just chooses to keep discipline where it _belongs_ ; in our _family_.” Neither of them seemed to have an answer. You sighed, knowing it was a common misconception that Professor Snape let the Snakes get away with anything. “I screwed up a potion,” you listed, raising a finger, “it was a simple mistake, but it caused an incident; I will have one detention where I’ll be redoing my potion _and_ writing an essay on what I did wrong and how it affected my work as well as the effects my potion has on its victims, which is why I am staying with you lot. It won’t change my zero grade, of course. _Then_ I’ll have another detention – probably tutoring firsties – because ‘people who make simple mistakes need to go back and study the simple things again’” you quoted the long list of rules and punishments posted in your common room. “On top of that, _you two_ were disrespectful, which lost you points for your own houses and _may_ earn me another study session. I don’t have time for that if I want to pass DADA this semester,” you groaned, pushing open the door.

“Uncle wouldn’t fail you!” Kíli promised. You laughed. “You’re one of the best in our year at defence!” he added, staring like you had suddenly sprouted an extra head.

“And I just got both his nephews sent to the Hospital wing.” You waved to Madam Pomfrey, who was reading the small paper airplane that had arrived before you. “Look what happened to Belby last week, after he hexed Kíli in class,” you added. Fíli opened his mouth to protest your analysis.

“Well, get those robes off and take a shower, Misters Durin,” Madam Pomfrey ordered, interrupting Fíli before he could begin to claim that Belby getting a failing grade for giving Kíli donkey ears in a class on shield spells was not Professor Durin’s transparent revenge. At least _your_ Head of House was more subtle than _that_ , you thought smugly. “Professor Snape will be up after class, and Miss Grey has been assigned the duty of keeping an eye on you till he gets here. You look healthy enough to me, but I’ll run a few diagnostics while we wait.”

Knowing better than to protest, the two boys trudged into the infirmary bathroom and you heard the sound of running water while Madam Pomfrey summoned a house elf to fetch their pyjamas and had you set up a note taking station between two beds before returning to her office, humming lightly.

A cry came from the bathroom.

Looking at Madam Pomfrey’s office door which did not open, you marched over to the bathroom door, yanking the door open and preparing to tell two embarrassed young men that screaming in the bathroom wasn’t funny.

You stared. Your mouth opened, before closing again on a whimper as you closed your eyes.

“I’m dead. Professor Durin is going to _kill_ me,” you whispered to yourself.

“No dead Gwen!” the little blond boy cried, throwing himself – wet and naked – against your legs.

“My Gwen!” the equally small dark-haired boy claimed, pushing the first boy away to get a better grip on your robes.

“I’m so _dead_ ,” you mumbled, which made both of them burst into tears. “No, no, please, boys, please stop crying,” you cried out, sinking to your knees and wrapping on arm around each of them, panicking when your entreaty did absolutely nothing.

“My Gwen!” Kíli kept sobbing, while Fíli didn’t seem to remember how words worked, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“Hush, boys,” you tried, hugging them tight. “Everything is going to be just fine.” Flicking your hand to drop your wand from its wristholster, you aimed a shrinking spell at the two sets of pyjamas the house elf had magicked onto a bench in the corner. A summoning charm brought both set flying, as Kíli climbed into your lap, seemingly intending to nap with your breast as his pillow. Heat flashed in your cheeks. “I so hope neither of you remember this,” you mumbled, trying to wrangle the shirt onto Fíli, who was now sniffling wetly. You wiped away his tears, kissing his small forehead.

“Not dead?” Fíli asked, staring at you with his giant blue eyes still looking one word away from wailing. You shook your head.

“Not dead, Fíli, I promise. Can you put the pyjamas on?” he nodded seriously, beginning to struggle with the combination of leg and leghole while you tried to rouse Kíli, whose newfound resting-place was apparently the most comfy he’d ever been, going by his reluctance to sit up. You sighed. “Kíli, can you get your pyjamas on? Your Uncle will be here soon, and then we’ll get this whole thing sorted out, I promise. Just, please, put some clothes on.” Kíli seemed to study you. Then he nodded.

“My Gwen,” Kíli said solemnly, nodding again and began to pull on his pyjama pants backwards. You chuckled, a little watery, and helped him turn the garment. Buttoning Fíli’s pyjama top, you were surprised when he hugged you again. “Fee!” Kíli shrieked, and then he was wrapped around your middle. Shock made you wrap an arm around both small boys, trying to pretend you knew what you were doing.

“Well, well, Miss Grey, it seems you’ve found a bit of trouble,” a kindly voice said behind you.

“P-Professor Dumbledore!” you gasped, instinctively hugging both boys closer. Turning your head to look up at the Headmaster, you felt caught in his gaze.

“Where are my nephews?!” an irate bellow from the patient ward interrupted anything Dumbledore might have wanted to say. Fíli jumped, pushing past Dumbledore in a flash and running out of the bathroom. Kíli remained where he was, seemingly content to burrow into your hold. Slowly you got to your feet, wondering how such a small boy could feel so heavy.

“Uncle Thorin!” Fíli shouted happily. “You came!”

“… Fíli?” Professor Durin replied. “Why do you look four years old?” When you dared to look up, Professor Durin had picked up little Fíli, carrying him far more easily than you were carrying his twin, who was still clinging to you like a burr. “…Kíli?” Professor Durin whispered, staring from one boy to the other.

“Uncle!” Kíli chirped happily, waving from your hold. “It’s my Gwen!” he announced loudly, tugging on your chocolate curls before putting his head down on your breast once more.

“Miss Grey,” Professor Durin’s face looked like thunder to you. “Explain yourself!”

“No yell at Gwen!” Fíli protested, copying his Uncle’s dark scowl perfectly. Professor Durin looked stunned for a moment, though not as stunned as you felt.

Your explanation – not that you had any idea what you were going to say, really – was postponed by the arrival of Professor Snape, whose supercilious drawl had never been more welcome in the four years he had been your Head of House. “It seems clear to me, Professor Durin, that Miss Grey inadvertently concocted a variant of a de-aging potion.”

“Can you reverse it, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, placing his hand on your shoulder. Kíli scowled at him, slapping the offending appendage away with a petulant mutter of ‘My Gwen’.

“I will need to test the residue left behind in Miss Grey’s cauldron, which she placed under stasis in the lab before escorting the two Misters Durin up here,” Professor Snape replied. You were probably the only one who felt warmed by the implicit ‘Well done’ inherent in his words. “We’ll also need to run some tests on the boys.”

“How soon can you reverse the process?” Professor Durin growled. Professor Snape smirked.

“I couldn't possibly say -” an obvious lie “- Professor. Potions is not an exact science, after all.”

“My Gwen,” Kíli piped up, as if that was the most important thing right now. You blushed.

“Very well, Mister Durin,” Professor Dumbledore said genially. You felt instantly worried. Your grandfather's friend was barmy at the best of times - much like your grandfather, really - but you'd learned to be extra wary of that tone of voice. “I’m sure – in lieu of whatever punishment you had devised for Miss Grey’s accident, Professors, you can both agree that it would be more useful for Miss Grey to take care of the two Misters Durin for the next few days.” He held up a hand when Professor Durin looked like he wanted to protest. “It seems the boys are quite attached to her, and you do have other responsibilities, Professor. Hogwarts is hardly a safe place for two energetic four-year-olds, Miss Grey is the perfect solution.” Turning to you, the twinkle in his eyes revealing deep amusement, he added, “I will excuse you from classes tomorrow, then it’s the weekend and we can reassess the situation on Monday.”


	2. Chapter 2

Looking at the sleeping faces of Fíli and Kíli, you wondered how the small terrors could look like such angels when they were unconscious. Sighing, you closed the door on the small bedroom Professor Durin had been surprised to find had sprouted in his chambers.

“They’re asleep, Professor,” you muttered tiredly. It had taken two goodnight stories – luckily the Library had contained an ancient copy of Beedle’s, you thought – and four lullabies. You hadn’t known any of the lullabies the boys apparently remembered, but they’d been fascinated by the Danish ones you remembered your own mother singing before her premature death, and even a weird Gaelic one you’d learned from your grandfather.

“My thanks, Miss Grey,” Professor Durin replied stiffly, staring out of the window. “You should go get some rest yourself. I’ll see you in the Great Hall at 7:30 for breakfast tomorrow? If I remember right, the boys usually woke up before seven at that age.”

With an inward groan, you accepted, feeling worn out by simply one afternoon in your new role as caretaker.

 

* * *

 

Making your way down through the castle, you stopped at Professor Snape’s office door, knocking lightly. You hadn’t been summoned – though you would have received a scroll on your bed, you knew, before bedtime – but it was often better to show up of your own volition the Slytherins had learned, showing initiative instead of cowering from your punishments.

“Enter,” Snape called, the door opening slightly on silent hinges.

“Good evening, Professor,” you murmured, recognizing the pewter cauldron Professor Snape was peering into as your own.

“Miss Grey,” he greeted, looking up and nodding once. “You may leave your notes on my desk when you’re done. If possible, bottle the memory of the day’s lesson too.”

“Yes, sir,” you said quietly, taking a seat at the smaller desk as the Professor scribbled notes on a long scroll of parchment. A large tome lay before him, though Snape hadn’t begun using magic to unravel whatever you had created; the stasis spell was still holding, surrounding your cauldron with an iridescent shimmer preventing anything getting into - or out of - the potion.

  * Followed instructions for ‘Kalhoun’s Fibrous Cardiac Healer’ (found in “Medical Potions for the Prepared” by Master R. Brown, pp. 273) until step 12; add four gentian flowers. Added five. Potion began sizzling and turned crimson instead of coral.
  * Performed Bacchus’ Test spell to confirm suspicion of excessive acidity.
  * Added two #3 measuring spoons levelled of powdered moonstone; this should make the potion neutral. Potion flashed orange for a moment before returning to previous crimson, large bubbles forming on the surface. Potion gave off excessive heat as expected.
  * Added four hairs of thestral to lower temperature. Standard procedure for controlling thermally unstable compounds. Potion remained crimson; appeared slightly darker in hue. Bubbles remained, now shimmering lightly; like frost blossoms forming and melting.
  * Added one diced mint leaf to stabilize the hair/yarrow interaction. Potion began to turn gelatinous.
  * Added two hairs of thestral; felt the heat dissipate. Bubbles continued to roil, however, enlarging and splashing against the lip of the cauldron.
  * Attempted to add another two hairs, but potion reached critical stage.
  * Called for those around me to duck and attempted to shield myself and cauldron. The shield spell on the opposite side of the cauldron either failed or did not manifest properly. Used Barnaby Haldor’s variation of the Brewer’s Shield, non-verbal, mastered in fifth year Potions Club.
  * Potion was evanescoed off the two victims, Mr & Mr Durin, who verbally claimed to be unharmed, by Professor S. Snape.
  * Arriving in the Infirmary 16 minutes and 4 seconds after initial eruption. Confirmed by Haldor’s shield variation with wrist-timer.
  * Heard a scream from the bathroom 19 minutes and 37 seconds after explosion.
  * Discovered Mr & Mr Durin in bathroom, naked, apparently reverted to their own four-year-old selves. This observation was made by Professor T. Durin, who arrived promptly at noon – time substantiated by the meal bell ringing which can be heard from the Infirmary.
  * Mr K. Durin seems emotionally attached to myself, possessive, even, though both Mr F. Durin & Mr K. Durin seem to have no problem remembering my name, which is peculiar as I have known them for only two months. This suggests partial memory of older self was retained.
  * Boys asked about their mother – to my knowledge Mrs D. Durin passed away when the two were around age 12, which substantiates the theory of partial recollections.
  * According to Professor T. Durin, both children are acting much as they did when they _were_ four, suggestive of maturity regression, though further observations are needed to verify either of these theories.
  * Both boys remembered childhood stories and favourite lullabies.



 

“Is the timer still counting, Miss Grey?” Professor Snape asked. You showed him your right forearm, the magical ink that Haldor’s variant spelled onto the caster’s wrist still counting. Professor Snape nodded, and you knew he was pleased you hadn’t been so daft as to dispel the timer. Turning to your cauldron, he indicated the stasis spell with a wave of his stained fingers. Waving your wand, you spoke the partial finite; keeping your timer was essential, but the stasis part dissipated with a slight shimmer of magic. Using a pair of tongs to hold a small vial, Professor Snape collected a sample of your goo. You recast the stasis spell on the cauldron. “Continue to take notes, Miss Grey, and observe anything out of the ordinary in regards to Mr & Mr Durin,” Professor Snape said quietly. “Goodnight.”

“Sir?” you asked, confused. It was barely gone nine, you had assumed he would keep you for some hours either lecturing or working on your potion.

“This analysis is Master level, Miss Grey, you have years of study before you will be able to do it yourself,” he explained quietly. You nodded, but your curiosity made you bold.

“I’d still like to watch, Professor,” you mumbled, staring in fascination as he pulled out an array of glass instruments – the most magically inert tools for any potioneer – pouring a blob of your goo onto a small slide and looking at it through a microscope.

“Very well, Miss Grey. You may ask questions when I am finished. Take notes throughout.” Professor Snape commanded crisply, but you didn’t think he was displeased. He rarely was when students – especially his own house, of course, as you were more likely to dare brave his temper – actually _wanted_ to learn the art of Potions.

 

* * *

 

Trudging back to your bed hours later, you yawned widely.

“So?” Kimberly-Anne asked, pulling her curtains aside when you entered your small room. Slytherin had rooms – two students per room – rather than dorms, and you’d been roommates with Kim since first year.

“They turned into toddlers!” you moaned, falling back on your bed. Kim burst into laughter, uncowed by your glare. You reluctantly gave into your own chuckles. ¨

“Seriously, how adorable are they?” she asked, reaching out to poke your foot teasingly.

“When they are asleep? _Very_.” You admitted with a laugh as you pulled off your robes, throwing them into your hamper. “When they’re awake… they’re mostly hyper and want to explore _everything_.” You groaned lightly, rolling your shoulders as you found your night gown. “Kíli thinks I’m his _pet_ or something; he keeps calling me ‘My Gwen’ and glaring at anyone talking to me.” Walking into your small bathroom, you washed quickly, brushing your teeth and returning to bed with a yawn.

“Was Snape very angry?” Kim asked, well aware of the volatile temper of your Head of House. You shook your head, feeling puzzled by the fact.

“Master Snape was hardly angry at all – though he took the opportunity to needle the DADA-Professor as expected,” you both chuckled. It was no secret that Snape had yet to meet a DADA Professor he could do more than tolerate. “He spent hours using very advanced magic to analyse my potion,” you admitted, still awed. “I think he likes the puzzle,” you finally admitted with a yawn, staring at your clock. “Merlin’s beard,” you groaned, dismayed, “I promised Professor Durin I’d meet them for breakfast in six hours.”

The soft laugh of your best friend followed you into sleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

# Chapter 3

You managed to show up at Professor Durin’s door at the appointed time, though no one answered your knock. You could hear shrieks of children laughing coming from inside, however, so you weren’t surprised when the portrait – an elderly woman who looked like the quintessential spinster – simply sighed and moved aside for you.

“My Gwen!” Kíli cried, slamming into your legs a soon as he spotted you. Staggering lightly, you reached down to pat his hair, sighing fondly.

“Kíli, we can’t keep meeting like this,” you joked,” you’re not even dressed.” Kíli did not seem to understand the joke, and you had to remind yourself that the boys were not the adults you had grown used to teasing. Winking at him, you picked him up. “Why are you all damp?” you muttered, moving towards the boys’ room in search of something for Kíli to wear.

“Kíli! Get back here!” Professor Durin bellowed, sticking his head out of the bathroom door. “Oh, Gwen, there you are,” he said, sighing in what you could only call relief at the sight of you. “No, Fíli, stop climbing on me,” he scowled, tossing a towel at you before turning back to his golden-haired nephew. You laughed. Wrapping the towel around Kíli, who was attached to your front like he was practising his impression of a barnacle, you scrubbed his dark hair dry, rubbing the warm towel along his small limbs.

“Good morning, Professor,” you chuckled, when the other two Durins finally emerged from the bathroom, identical scowls on their faces.

“Do call me Thorin, Miss Grey,” the professor – Thorin – asked. “I haven’t had enough coffee to be a Professor yet.”

“Gwen!” Fíli cried, running over to hug your legs. You tried to return the hug, though clinging Kíli made it difficult. Kíli hissed at him.

“My Gwen!” he declared, pressing his face into your cheek and making kissy sounds. You could feel yourself blushing. Throwing a quick drying spell at Professor err…Thorin’s back – apparently, Fíli had still been wet when he began climbing – you found a set of shrunken trousers and a shirt for Kíli. Setting him down on the ground proved difficult, but you knew you’d never be able to carry him around all day, so you set him down on his bed and ignored his puppy eyes until he was dressed.

“Please tell me there’s a way to turn them back to their normal obnoxious selves instead of their _hyper_ obnoxious selves?” Professor Durin groaned, flicking his own wand at his robes to get the creases out. You had to hide a smile.

“We’re working on it,” you yawned lightly; six hours of sleep was not enough.

“Good,” he replied, a clever bit of magic braiding his long hair back in the style he favoured for controlling the tumbling locks. It was odd, you thought, but Fíli had braided hair as well – you thought it was a cultural thing; British wizards who wore their hair long would only ever gather it in a thestral-tail. When he turned to Kíli, the small boy shook his hair violently. Thorin sighed. “You know your Amad wants you to you’re your best, Kíli,” he said sternly, “that includes braiding your hair like a proper Durin.” Looking at you, he smirked. “Don’t you want to look your best for Miss Grey?” Kíli seemed to be at war with himself, looking between you and Thorin’s wand.

“Perhaps I should braid my hair too?” you asked, grasping for a happy medium. Kíli nodded.

“I’m gonna do it!” he cried. Beside you, Thorin sighed. Fíli giggled madly.

“You caaaan’t,” he sing-songed, tickling his brother. Kíli frowned.

“Can too!” he protested, returning the tickling.

“Noes,” Fíli said self-importantly, “we’re not s’posed to do magic till we’re older, Amad says so!” Obviously, that was the be-all-end-all argument, to Fíli’s young mind. Kíli’s small face fell. You felt horribly guilty. Staring at Thorin, silently pleading for a solution.

“I will do the magic, Kíli,” he sighed, waving his wand surreptitiously at the dark hair of his nephew which instantly neatened; a braid running along either side of his face, and the mass of it contained at the back with a silver clip.

“Well, don’t you look handsome,” you said, smiling. Kíli beamed.

“My Gwen next, Uncle,” he pleaded, staring at Thorin.

“Fine,” Thorin sighed, waving his wand at you. You’d used curling spells before, but it was a very peculiar sensation to have sections of your long hair parting on their own and twining around others. Conjuring a mirror – you were inside the Professor’s rooms, it probably didn’t count as using magic in the halls – you studied yourself.

“Very good,” you nodded, tilting your head. It looked kinda like a crown, you thought, amazed that your hair could do things like that. Kíli’s smile widened even further if that was possible.

“She looks like a Durin now!” Fíli exclaimed, jumping on the bed. “She’s like my sister!”

“My Gwen,” Kíli nodded importantly. His uncle made an odd sound, halfway between a laugh and a cough.

“Let’s go then,” Thorin added, moving towards the door. Both boys jumped off the bed, racing for the door.

 

Taking Kíli’s hand, you held out the other for Fíli’s, but he seemed more interested in holding on to his uncle, who shrugged. “Come on, boys, it’s breakfast time,” you tried, setting off down the corridor.

“No throwing the food, lads,” Thorin admonished sternly, “or the crockery.”

“What’s crockery?” Fíli asked, staring up at him, his blue eyes large and bright with curiosity. You had to hide a smile. Fíli always wanted answers; at this age it was obviously Thorin’s answers that mattered.

“The plates and cups,” his uncle replied, obviously lost in some memory or other – perhaps the warning had to do with a habit the two had had when they were four?

 

Breakfasting with two lively children made you quite certain that having twins was the road to madness, wondering how their mother had managed. Professor Durin tried – you’d been given a seat at the High Table – but he didn’t really know how to talk to children, you thought, trying to glower them into good behaviour most of the time. It worked some on Fíli, but Kíli ignored him in favour of splitting his attention between the food, you – he was seemingly making sure you liked the same foods – and waving at the students looking up at you. You caught Kim’s eyes, sharing a look with your friend that eloquently conveyed her amusement at your predicament.

“Ahh, Miss Grey!” Headmaster Dumbledore called, making you lean forward to look at him past the stern face of Professor McGonnagal – secretly your favourite teacher – Professor Babbling and Professor Durin himself.

“Yes, Headmaster?” you asked, wondering – not for the first time – if your grandfather’s friend was colour blind. The eye-watering shade of yellow robes he had donned today clashed wonderfully with his magenta hat – perhaps he was simply blind in general? – and was decorated by a moving swirl of silver stars that made you dizzy.

“I was wondering as to your plans for the boys today,” he remarked, calmly buttering a roll. Professor McGonnagal pursed her lips in disapproval – you were supposed to be in her class this morning, handing in a long essay.

“I thought I’d take them outside, play some games?” you suggested hesitantly. Honestly, you were an only child, who’d spent most of her life in the company of her wandering grandfather until you’d gone to Hogwarts at the age of 13, you didn’t actually think you’d spent any significant time playing with other small children – even when you _were_ a child. You’d had a vague plan about tiring them out running in the grounds, but really you were pulling the whole child-care plan out of nowhere. Maybe there was a book in the Library on how to deal with hyper-active – Kíli was already bouncing in his seat – four-year-olds?

“I wanna do archery!” Kíli crowed, startling you out of your contemplations about conjuring balls – you had learned that spell in Third Year, right?

“Archery?” you choked on your mouthful of tea.

“He’s actually quite good with a bow,” Thorin muttered. “Fíli likes swords, like me, however.” You gaped. Fencing wasn’t unheard of – mainly among old Purebloods like the Lestranges, or the Blacks – but you had no idea how you’d keep the boys safe if you gave them actual _weapons_.

“Is… Is that a _good_ idea?” you hissed out the side of your mouth, frantically listing all the Mediwizardry spells you’d learned over the years. Spending every summer trekking around with your grandfather, you’d had to learn a few things; the jungles of Borneo or the Sahara Desert were terrible places for incurring unexpected injuries.

“I’ll conjure up some practice weapons,” Thorin muttered, far too calmly for your taste. You glared at him.

“Splendid idea!” Dumbledore chimed in, beaming at you. You sighed. At least grandfather had _some_ sense of self-preservation; a trait you’d come to realise was wholly lacking in his old friend.

 

An actual wooden bow, finely decorated even if it was conjured by magic; you had boggled a little at that when Thorin conjured it with an experienced flick of his wand; he obviously knew more than how to fight Dark Creatures. Secretly, you decided to ask him to teach you that spell; Grandfather always encouraged you to learn new spells from different parts of the world and Thorin’s spell produced things you’d have sworn were made in a Viking style. Fíli received a squat sword, angular markings running down the blade and you had conjured up a dummy the size of himself to practise with after checking that the blade was dulled. Handing Kíli the bow – you involuntarily returned his large smile – you waved your wand at the far end of the small field, conjuring a series of brightly coloured target. With a loud whoop, Kíli set to shooting, the never-empty quiver – whenever an arrow struck something, it vanished and reappeared in the quiver – at his feet.

“Look, Gwen, look!” he cried. You clapped, loathe to ruin his excitement, even if you had no idea about the scoring of archery. Looking at Fíli, his small face tight with determination, you smiled. The weather was beautiful, though the chill of November in Scotland was making itself felt, even through your thick mittens and scarf. The boys had been decked out in shrunken things Thorin had fetched from their rooms – you had categorically refused to look in the trunks and wardrobes of two nearly 18-year-old blokes, especially in order to fetch them clean shrinkable underwear. You had stared a little at the fur collars, but the clothes seemed warm enough, the tip of Kíli’s red nose peeking out from beneath his fur hat making you giggle. He was adorable, he really was.

 


	4. Chapter 4

At the Slytherin table for lunch Kíli wouldn’t eat anything but blue food, which made you glad that Professor Flitwick had once taught Colour-Changing spells, even if blue spaghetti Bolognese – the House Elves were doing Italian food this week, as part of Professor Dumbledore’s ‘Culinary Cultural Connection’-program – looked seriously unappetizing. Fíli, on the other hand, didn’t like the texture of minced meat, so he inhaled three plates of Chicken Alfredo instead. Silently, you wondered where he put it. Urquhart Goyle, arguably the biggest boy in your year, a wall of solid muscle – they said he had already been scouted as a beater for the National Quidditch Team, though you knew he wanted to be a Curse-Breaker – had given up matching Fíli after two and a half portions. The small boy had then sweetly enquired whether there would be dessert after.

“What would you like to do this afternoon?” you asked brightly, hoping that it wasn’t more weapons training – the boys were good, no doubt, but you were rather hoping to avoid any scenario in which you’d be challenged to a contest – and wondering what they could do in Hogwarts that didn’t involve going outside in the November drizzle-that-will-become-a-storm you could see when you tilted your head back to look at the ceiling. “We could do drawing?” An activity that might let you write some notes for your upcoming essays as well as observations about the boys, “or perhaps you’d like to play a game?”

“Drawing.” Fíli decided. Kíli scowled.

“Drawing is boring. We should go explore!” he countered. You felt a moment of dread when Fíli’s curiosity sparked.

“Yes!” he cried, “exploring!”

“Miss Grey,” Professor Snape drawled silkily, leaning over your shoulder, staring at both boys with a curious expression on his face, “I require you and the boys in my lab this afternoon for a few tests.” You nodded. The boys groaned; Kíli was busy glaring at Professor Snape, who straightened, returning the dark look with a severity that made Kíli frown, snuggling against your side.

“Yes, sir,” you said, “I’ll bring them down when they’re finished eating.” With a nod, the dark man stalked off, his robes billowing behind him.

“He’s a bat.”

“Yes, Kee,” came Fíli’s reply. “But he’s going to help us, Uncle Thorin said, remember. We have to be … perlite.” You hid a smile, while the Slytherins around you tried not to chuckle.

“Yes, Fíli, you should be polite to your professors,” you agreed, keeping a straight face.

 

* * *

 

Entering the dungeon, one little boy in each hand, you were surprised to find a group of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors in your path, scowling.

“Are you lost, little eaglets?” A mellifluous baritone asked behind you, making you quite aware of Urquhart’s sudden presence behind you. “Did the cubs run astray?” Unsurprised by the large ham-sized hands that appeared on your shoulders, tugging you a step back beside him.

“She stole Fíli!” One of them cried – you though his name was Warner – pointing an accusatory finger at you. Several people nodded.

“And Kíli!” A Gryffindor girl added, looking like she wanted to claw your eyes out when Kíli let go of your hand – your wand-hand; you felt better for surreptitiously dropping the length of mahogany and rosewood into your hand from its wrist-holster – in favour of a tight grip on your leg and a hissed declaration of ‘My Gwen’.

“See, as _I_ heard it,” Urquhart replied evenly – he had perfected that undertone of menace years ago that made people feel threatened when he was at his most pleasant – stepping up and making himself look even bigger by flexing, “ _Professor Dumbledore_ was the one to make that decision; endorsed by Professors Durin _and_ Snape, as a way of keeping them safe until their condition could be reversed.” Watching the Warner boy pale was immensely satisfying. You knew you were outmatched if it came to a duel; there were eight of them, and two of you, even if you were proficient at duelling and Urquhart was easy to underestimate by people who only saw his brawn instead of the brains that lurked behind those baby-blues.

“We only meant that we haven’t seen them in days!” A Ravenclaw girl whose name escaped you said, staring defiantly at Urquhart. “How do we know you’re not keeping them with you through spellwork?!” Staring at her angry pinched face, you couldn’t help but laughing.

“Fíli, Kíli?” you asked, when you had yourself under control once more, Urquhart still exuding pleasant malevolence towards the Gryffs and Eagles. The boys nodded, looking up at you. “Would you like to go with your housemates?” you asked, knowing that Professor Snape was waiting; if you took too long, he _would_ come looking for you, something the Gryffindors would not find pleasant – Professor Snape _did not_ approve of bullying, and eight versus two was hardly sporting odds. Fíli shook his head, while Kíli stuck out his tongue at the Gryffindor girl – Jenelle! That was her name – you thought you had seen sighing in the hallways when he passed. You felt a strange visceral smugness at the way he was clinging to you, reaching down to ruffle his hair lightly.

“My Gwen,” Kíli said, smiling at you. You smiled back. “Staying with my Gwen,” he nodded, satisfied when you smiled again and hugged your leg. Jenelle looked pained.

“Very well, then,” you added pleasantly, “now, if you don’t mind, Professor Snape is waiting for us, and I’d hate to have reason to tell him why we were delayed when he expressly ordered the boys be present straight after lunch.” Grumbling, the red-and-blues shoved past you – Warner bumped hard into your shoulder, but Urquhart’s arm caught you, and the dark glare he sent the boy over your head promised dire retribution – and disappeared up the stairs.

“I’ll walk with you, cousin.” Urquhart stated, swinging Fíli onto his broad shoulders without protest. You sighed, but gave him a fond smile. Kíli’s hand snuck back into yours, his sunny smile in your direction proving that he was not at all upset about the small interaction with his housemates.

“Thanks Urquhart,” you sighed, setting off once more. He shrugged. Fíli giggled, waving down at his brother from his suddenly tall vantage point.

“Mama wants to know if you’re coming for Yule, by the way, she said she’d write you this week,” Urquhart said. It never ceased to amuse you to hear him call her Mama, but Lucille Goyle was not the type of mother to be called by her given name, even by her adult offspring.

“Grandfather is being vague on the topic as always,” you chuckled, “but don’t we always show up anyway?” He laughed; a deep rolling sound that echoed against the dark walls.

“Oui, you do,” he admitted. Lucille was French and it showed in her children; you thought it might have showed more in you if your father had actually lived long enough to have any impact on your life, but he’d been killed before you were even born.

“I’ll write Aunt Lucie anyways,” you decided, “perhaps she’ll have better luck haranguing grandfather.” You shared a conspiratorial smile at that; Lucille Goyle née Desjardins could win a gold medal for Scotland in haranguing recalcitrant wizards. Marrying uncle Aonghus and joining the sprawling – and often loud – Goyle clan had only made her fiercer. Urquhart nodded.

“Expect her owl anyway,” he added, raising one large fist to knock on the door of Professor Snape’s personal lab. Setting Fíli on his feet when the door opened, he gave you one last wave before striding off down the corridor. You smiled. It was nice to have family around.

“Miss Grey!” Professor Snape snapped irritably. You started, but herded your charges through the doors.

“Sorry we’re late, Professor,” you called.

“We met a giant,” Fíli informed him seriously. Professor Snape just stared blankly. “He’s Gwen’s cousin. She’s like my sister today. Does that mean he’s also my cousin?” Fíli asked, turning to you for the answer. You shrugged.

“My Gwen’s family,” Kíli said seriously, “of course he’s our family, Fee! Is like da’s family: Even though he’s dead, they’re still our family, too, innit.” You didn’t quite follow that logic, but Fíli nodded as though it made perfect sense to you. Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

“Gryffindors…” he muttered, “why is it always Gryffindors?”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Wisely ignoring Professor Snape’s mutterings, you got started with the detective work he set for you, though you didn’t get to help much, spending most of your time trying to stop Kíli from ‘investigating’ things that were either a) hideously expensive, or b) dangerous, or c) both. It seemed any time he wasn’t the focus of your attention, he’d find something else to nearly knock over or break; you felt beyond frazzled at the end of two hours when Professor Snape let you take the boys and leave, feeling almost weepy when you caught sight of Kim outside, waiting for you.

“Ice cream?” she asked sympathetically. You nodded, but your reply was lost in the deafening – and echoing – cries from the boys.

“ICE CREAM!”

“YES!”

With a laugh, Kim held out her hand to Fíli, who looked at her searchingly before he took it, leaving Kíli to his favourite activity of hanging off one of your hands.

 

Tickling the pear and stepping into the kitchen, you quickly located Mali, who just tutted when she saw you. Your former nursery-elf had come to Hogwarts when your mother died and Grandfather took you off travelling, but it was a temporary thing, she’d told you, simply busy-work until you had a home of your own for her to manage.

“My special orange brownies with vanilla ice cream,” she offered, setting down four loaded bowls.

“Thanks, Mali, it’s been a long week,” you sighed, looking forward to it being Saturday tomorrow; if Thorin didn’t have classes, maybe he’d be able to help keep an eye on the boys. Worrying about the steadily growing pile of essay assignments you were missing would only make you want more ice cream, so you determinedly didn’t think about it, letting the sounds of the busy kitchen and Kíli’s spirited re-telling of his day fill you. Mali tutted, patting the little boy’s hair.

You stayed in the warm kitchen, Fíli and Kíli both completely absorbed in watching the House Elves prepare supper – it looked like Osso Bucco and a vegetarian lasagne tonight – while you simply enjoyed the comparable relaxation. Mali was far better than you at child-minding, you realised, and the boys were fascinated by her flappy ears – Kíli spent a full five minutes gaping over her trick of flapping one ear then the other, which you remembered had delighted you as a child, too, though he felt upset that he couldn’t copy the move, spending a lot of time scrunching up his face and asking Fíli if his ears moved.

All in all, it was an enjoyable afternoon.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was once again spent at the High Table, though this time you had managed to land a seat between Kíli and Professor Snape, and ended up pelting him with questions about the tests he had performed in the afternoon. For once, Kíli wasn’t complaining about someone talking to you, far too busy making faces at the Gryffindor table when no one was watching. Fíli seemed to have found a new friend in Urquhart, who had taken up space among the firsties – Snape believed in keeping an eye on his youngest Snakes at meal-times, and seating at the Slytherin Table was organized by year; Urquhart had swapped with the 6th year Prefect who usually sat with the firsties on Fridays – looking even larger than usual. He and Fíli were engaged in a silent contest of eating; Urquhart had the advantage of not having had ice cream in the afternoon, of course, but Fíli made a good showing of himself nonetheless.

“What are you doing, Fíli?” Thorin asked, when he caught on to the sly glances between the two boys after Fíli’s second serving of lasagne.

“It’s our new cousin,” Fíli informed him. “We’re eating dinner, Uncle.”

“I… see,” Thorin replied, though he obviously didn’t. “And where did you obtain a new cousin?”

“The Dungeons, of course,” Kíli butted in, “he’s a giant.”

“Mr Goyle does not have giant-blood, Mr Durin,” Professor Snape interrupted silkily. “Brawn runs in the family.” Under his breath – possibly forgetting that you could hear him talk about your cousin, or maybe forgetting that Urquhart _was_ your cousin – he added, “Fortunately, _that_ one also got brains; which is more than can be said for the Goyle in my year.” You had to hide a laugh, while Thorin choked on his drink. Fíli looked a bit lost, but just nodded brightly, taking a large sip of his milk.

“Fortunately,” you mock-lamented, “Uncle Aonghus – Urquhart’s father – is the brainy of the Goyle brothers. You got saddled with Gregory, I guess?” You hadn’t realised Professor Snape was that young, but ‘Gregg’ was the youngest of the adult Goyles you knew of. In grandfather’s words, he was ‘daft as a plank’ but he had still managed to marry and procreate; probably aided by the Malfoy influence, though his wife was no great thinker either – not much of a looker, for that matter, the infamous ‘Parkinson Pug Nose’ leaving no one in doubt as to her bloodlines – though it was too early to tell if ‘Mini-Greg’ would take after either side. Of course, he seemed set to follow in his father’s footsteps as a henchman for the newest Malfoy, so he would probably have a future either way, you mentally added, quietly hoping that you _wouldn’t_ have to spend much time speaking with ‘Uncle’ – a title he demanded, even if he technically was no relation of yours – Greg at the Yule Feast. On the other hand, Greg and Petunia usually left early to get ready for the Malfoy Ball, so if you timed your arrival just right, it should be avoidable. Feeling cheered by that thought, you waved at Urquhart, signing the current food score at him with a smirk. Beside you, Professor Snape had gone quiet, while Professor Durin seemed to struggle for a different topic.

“So he’s _your_ cousin, then?” he finally said. You nodded.

“My father’s sister’s son,” you said, keeping your attention on Urquhart’s large hands, signing the equivalent of ‘Ha Ha, I Win’ at you. “Sorry, Fee,” you muttered, “but Urquhart’s won your little competition.” Fíli scowled, but then his face split in a wide smile.

“I’m gonna beat him at swords tomorrow!” he crowed. You refrained from hiding your face in your hands, wondering if your cousin knew what he was getting himself into. On the other hand, you thought, an evil smirk spreading on your face – Urquhart was looking somewhat apprehensive from the Slytherin Table – it would be _hilarious_ to watch your mountainous cousin get schooled by a four-year-old with a broadsword.

“I’m gonna beat him in archery!” Kíli chimed in, not to be out-done. You lost the struggle with your mirth then, your chuckles soon joined by Professor Durin’s deep chortles.

“I’m sure you will, Kee,” you managed, nearly in tears with laughter at the thought. Signing the challenge at your cousin, whose eyes widened, you returned to your own plate, pleased to see that your dessert had been replaced with Mali’s brownies and ice cream instead of the pannacotta that Kíli was dubiously stabbing with his fork.

“He’s not deaf,” Professor Durin said thoughtfully, still staring at Urquhart, who also seemed to have been spared the most disdained of Italian puddings – a distaste for ‘wobbly’ food was something you had in common – and Mali was obviously in a good mood if she was willing to bend the rules for you – or felt you had earned a small reprieve.

“Aunt Lucie went deaf after a Charms-experiment blew up,” you explained between bites. Kíli very slowly ferried a bite of pannacotta towards his mouth – Fíli was still staring at it as though it would attack him – while sending longing glances towards your bowl. “Aside from grandfather, she’s the only family I have; we all learned sign language.”

“Admirable,” Professor Durin replied, turning to his nephew. “Just try it, Fíli, it tastes better than it looks,” he coaxed.

“No.” Fíli pushed his plate away. “It _moves_ , Uncle!” You hid a smile in your sleeve.

“Look, Gwen is eating hers,” he tried, pointing towards the spoonful of ice cream and delicious brownie you were moving towards your lips.

“Gwen has _ice cream_ , Uncle,” Kíli interjected, stealing some of yours as he, too, pushed away his dessert. The look he shot his uncle spoke clearly of his current assessment of Professor Durin’s intelligence. Thorin groaned.

“Mali,” you whispered, “could you get brownies and ice cream for the Durins, too?” Kíli clapped his hands, hugging you excitedly when his plate was magically replaced with a bowl of two large scoops of ice cream and a decadent slice of brownie.

“Don’t tell me you allow your students personal House Elves, Professor Snape?” he groaned, but he, too, began eating the ice cream with relish. You smirked.

“Mali was Miss Grey’s nursery Elf, Professor,” Dumbledore interjected, before Snape could reply – you weren’t certain he knew you _had_ a House Elf bound to you at the school – though that didn’t stop him from sending an acidic glance towards the DADA professor. “When my old friend – Miss Grey’s grandfather – took custody of her, Mali was offered a place here, to keep her from getting lonely without anyone to care for. It is my belief that Miss Grey is aware of the trust extended to her in letting Mali continue to work here, and I have never been informed of any rule-breaking due Mali’s presence.” You flushed slightly. _He_ might not have been informed, but you were pretty sure he had figured out who had turned all the Gryffindor boys’ uniform shirts emerald green in your third year. As Kim had said, it was a perfect prank; when questioned, you had been able to answer with complete honesty that you had had no hand in the prank. On your other side, Professor Snape smirked. _He_ , of course, hadn’t believed a word coming from either of your angelically innocent faces, but he’d never rat you out either; Slytherins stuck together outside their Common Room, no matter what went on behind closed doors.

 

* * *

 

By the time you made it back to the Common Room, you knew you ought to get started on the homework you hadn’t done last night, but you were simply too tired. Hyped up on ice cream, the boys had spent more than twenty minutes chasing each other around instead of getting into their pyjamas, and you _really_ wished that you could unimagine the image of naked 18-year-old Kíli that had flashed into your head at one point. It was so weird to think of the ‘boys’ as the ‘guys’ – almost like separate people – and yet it had suddenly hit you that the two four-year-olds you had come to care for more than you had believed possible after two days in their presence… would soon return to the almost-strangers you had been trying to befriend before all this happened.

“Do you think they’re going to hate me?” you asked, falling backwards onto Kim’s bed, and upsetting the leaning tower of textbooks she had stacked beside her.

“My teachers?” she asked, pulling her battered copy of _1000 magical herbs and fungi_ closer. You groaned, swatting at her sock-clad foot.

“Fíli and Kíli,” you moaned, staring up at the green silk canopy. Kim tutted, pinching your side.

“Yes, they’re going to hate the person who’s been looking after them for days, working her butt off trying to fix them while at the same time keeping them happy. Yes, we’re totally going to see Kíli go from ‘My Gwen, you no touch’ to ‘EEK, get away from the Slytherin witch!’, and Fíli will be all ‘Nah, that one could never be my _sister_ , she’s such a weirdo potions geek’,” Kim droned sarcastically, her dry humour always able to make you laugh. “I mean, you _do_ realise that Kíli’s crushing on you, yes?” she added, which made you sit up, staring wildly at her.

“No, he’s not!” you objected, certain you were blushing. Kim just arched one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows – you had always wanted to learn to do that, but never managed – giving you a ‘Sure, keep telling yourself that, Miss oblivious’-look. You groaned, flopping back onto the bed.

“And you think he’s cuuuute,” she sing-songed, tickling your neck with the end of her quill. You groaned again, though you didn’t deny the accusation, covering your eyes with your hand.

“How is this my life?” you moaned, staggering off her bed only to flop down onto your own, completely wiped out. “Wake me when my world begins making sense again?” you asked.

“No-can-do, luv,” she cackled; you would have thrown your pillow at her, but it was too comfortable. “I will, however, give you this,” with that, a large stack of parchment landed on your nightstand, making you blink one bleary eye open in her direction. “And I expect some major gratitude, too, Gwen,” she mock-threatened.

“What is it?” you asked warily.

“All the notes for every class you’ve missed today and yesterday. From the best student in each class, you’re welcome by the way.” Her lofty expression made you think she was joking at first, but then the façade cracked and she grinned her mischievous smile at you.

“Really?” you asked, staring at the towering stack of parchment. “ _You_ asked _Carmichael_?” He was the best Arithmancy student in your year… and he had had a crush on Kim since Fourth Year.

“I promised him _one_ Hogsmeade date,” Kim sighed. “The things I do for you, honestly.”

“If I could move, I would hug you,” you promised, smiling at her. Kim chuckled, flicking her blonde hair over hair shoulder.

“Get me an invitation to your aunt’s Yule party and we’ll be even,” she muttered, waving off your gratitude with a pleased smile.

“I thought your family went to the Malfoy Ball?” you asked, frowning; Kimberly-Anne was distantly related to the Malfoys – though everyone was, really, even if your own Malfoy ancestress was something like seven generations back and grandfather’s bohemian ways had never merited an invitation to _the_ Ball of the season – and her family never missed the annual Yule Ball.

“I don’t want to go,” Kim admitted, “cousin Lucius isn’t that bad, maybe, but Great—Uncle Abraxas keeps telling me about possible suitors among his friends’ sons… who are all older than my dad.” Her grimace at the thought was eloquent. You shuddered, thankful that arranged marriages had never been the custom in your family – truthfully, you weren’t quite sure grandfather had been married to grandmother at all. “But daddy’s just gone into business with the Goyles,” Kim continued, stopping you from imagining a time when your grandfather was young and hot enough to land a witch of your grandmother’s beauty, “so mother can’t say that I’d be shaming our name for going with you; it’s the perfect plan.”

“Well, you may have to put up with Greg and Mini-Greg, but if you think you can handle that, I’ll get Aunt Lucie to okay your presence,” you promised. “Will you get your license for apparating before the holidays?”

“Nah, first testing day after my birthday is in the new year,” she sighed, turning back to her Herbology essay, “figured you could Side-Along me.”

“Sure,” you agreed, turning over and pulling the first set of notes towards you. Lucky for you, this was Defence, Urquhart’s handwriting easily legible.

You were asleep by the end of the first page.


	6. Chapter 6

# Chapter 6 – Saturday

Snow had blanketed the grounds during the night and continued to fall all morning. Staring blearily up at the heavy clouds shrouding the rafters of the Great Hall ceiling, you half expected to be able to stick out your tongue to catch snowflakes, but the magical snow vanished about a meter above your head.

Kíli was grumpy this morning, sullenly silent in a way you thought was related to the tail-end of an argument with his Uncle that you had overheard when you arrived at their door. Thorin had not offered to do up your hair today, and Kíli’s hair looked suspiciously unbrushed too, but the Professor’s baleful glare into the darkness of his morning coffee made you decide that keeping mum was your best option. Fili, however, was the life and soul of the Slytherin table, continuing his ongoing food feud with Urquhart – French crepes, this morning – to the great amusement of the assembled Firsties. Slytherins like to sleep in on Saturdays – leaving for breakfast before 9 was solely the purview of overexcited youngsters – so you had been surprised to see Urquhart waiting for you when you stumbled from bed in time to reach Thorin’s door by 8.

“Don’t you like pancakes, Kíli?” you asked, feeling slightly worried by the incongruously sullen face he was presenting. Kíli made a discontented sound, pushing away his plate and crossing his arms over his chest, making his resemblance to his Uncle even more pronounced. You stifled a smile, though you caught the corner of Professor McGonnagal’s lips twitch up at the sight.

“Not hungry,” he claimed, the loud rumble coming from his small tummy moments later giving away the lie. You frowned.

“Eat your breakfast, Kíli,” Thorin sighed, looking defeated. Kíli shook his head stubbornly.

“Want Amad.” You didn’t know what an amad was, but Kíli looked near tears, and Thorin’s shoulders tensed beneath his robes, as though the request pained him.

“I know,” he said quietly, reaching over to ruffle Kíli’s hair gently. “I miss her, too. But she wouldn’t want you to make Gwen worried by not eating, don’t you think?” he added. Kíli looked at you thoughtfully, and you did your best to look suitably worried, your heart bleeding as you realised the person he missed was his late mother.

“Please eat something, Kíli?” you asked, suddenly filled with longing for your own mother, even though you had been little older than Kíli appeared now when she died of Dragon Pox and possessed only scattered memories of her. Kíli’s brown eyes filled with tears, and suddenly you found yourself with a lapful of small boy, his face pressed into your chest.

“No be sad, my Gwen,” he murmured into your robes, but you could feel a slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and knew that you weren’t the only one struggling to hold back tears. Wrapping your arms around Kíli’s small shoulders, you pressed a kiss into his soft hair.

Thorin quietly pushed Kíli’s abandoned plate closer, and when he emerged from your chest, he tucked in quickly.

At the Slytherin table, Fíli was staring up at you, a light frown on his face. Tugging on Urquhart’s sleeve – both boys had been fascinated by the idea of being able to talk to someone across the room as long as they were in sight – gesturing towards you and Kíli. Replying to Urquhart’s swift motions, you turned your attention back to your breakfast, though the pancakes had lost some of their allure.

 

After breakfast, you’d decided that playing with weapons was going to have to wait; going outside in the blizzard that had piled up snow on the windowsills of the castle until the panes were half-covered was not a sound idea. Instead, you gave in to the combined power of Kíli and Fíli's puppy eyes and took them off exploring some of the lesser-known areas of the castle, starting with a tour of the dungeons usually given to Slytherin Firsties.

The warren of tunnels and basements – some parts of the Dungeons spanned the equivalent of three floors aboveground – that made up Hogwarts’ underbelly was confusing at best, but Slytherin students had spent centuries working out which went where, finding lost rooms and treasures of older times around many unsuspecting corners. Firsties were limited to the most common areas of the Dungeons using clever ward spells that triggered if anyone under the age of 13 strayed into places they ought not. Not all the tunnels were safe, which was why Professor Snape and the House Prefects kept up the diligent web of spells meant to safeguard the students.

The boys seemed endlessly fascinated with their stint as dungeon dwellers, chattering wildly about the nest of small snakes they had found in what had once been a sitting room by the look of the furniture, though most of the fabric was ratted and torn. Thorin had only raised an eyebrow at their stories, but Professor Snape had given you an indecipherable look and left lunch early; the snakes were not dangerous, but you had recognised them as the ruby-patterned species of feathered adders whose shed skin was a highly desirable – and valuable – potions ingredient.

 

A glance at the ceiling revealed that the blizzard had subsided, even though the clouds still looked pregnant with more snow; the boys enthusiastically agreed to join the Inter-House Snowball War going on out on the lawns. Fíli seemed to have forgotten his challenge, but Urquhart was in no hurry to remind him, scowling darkly at you when you signed him a reminder, teasing him about his imminent defeat. Instead, both Urquhart and Kimberly-Anne joined you outside, bundled up against the chill nip in the air, using magic to create a large pile of snowballs that the twins enjoyed pelting anyone and everyone in range with.

Laughing brightly when Kíli scored a direct hit to the back of some girl’s head, your mirth turned into a slight groan when she turned and you recognised Jenelle Thompkins – you had finally remembered her name – from the minor altercation the day before.

Straightening from giving Fíli a high-five, you tensed slightly, ready for any sort of retaliation, but Jenelle smiled sweetly, waving at Fíli before she turned to throw a snowball at one of the ‘Puffs.

“Gweeen!” Kíli suddenly cried, bouncing towards you. You caught him around the shoulders, stopping him from tripping over his undone bootlaces with a small smile.

“Want me to tie your boots, Kíli?” When he nodded, you knelt on the snow, Fíli running off towards Urquhart, whose wand had created a small snow-fort they both could hide behind, pelting unsuspecting Gryffindors. When you finished tying his boot, Kíli gave you a sunny smile, holding out the other foot expectantly. You smiled back, enjoying the happy look on his face, no remnants of the morning’s sorrow lingering in his eyes.

It was the last thing you saw before blackness descended.

 

 

 


End file.
